


A Prank War

by allistor_kirkland



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, POV John Watson, POV Original Character, POV Sherlock Holmes, Prank Wars, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Sex eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-24 13:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1606664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allistor_kirkland/pseuds/allistor_kirkland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock engage in an epic battle of pranking each other. Hilarity (and some smut eventually) ensues. Oh yeah, Sherlock has a crush on John but doesn't know it (at least for a little while). I hope you'll enjoy it! I will be taking suggestions for pranks the boys can pull on each other. Rated "Explicit" for future smuttiness.</p><p>Also: I'm going to try to update this daily, if possible. Don't hold me to that.</p><p>Also, also: unbeta'd apologies in advance for any errors you might find.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Are You On About?

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write something like this for a while. Any way, read along my friends. Allons-y!!

"A gag war?" John stares at me in disbelief, his cup of tea frozen inches in front of his mouth.  
"Yes, a gag war. Didn't you hear me?" I look at John as he tries to understand what I'm talking about.  
"I have some questions," he takes a sip of his tea and sits down opposite me at the table. "What's a 'gag war,' first off. And secondly, why do you want to have one?" He still has that adorable look on his face. Did I just think that? I shake it off and answer.  
" A gag war is essentially a prank war. I pull something on you, you pull something on me. The winner is determined when the other either runs out of ideas or admits defeat," I stop and look into his eyes. "What do you think?"  
He's silent for a moment before he nods in agreement.  
"There will be some rules." John says, setting his cup down on the table and casting glances around for something.  
"There's paper and a pen on the coffee table." John shoots me a look and walks to the table, grabbing the paper and pen.  
"Okay," he sits down across from me again. "Number one: no direct physical harm. So no hitting, kicking, smacking, or anything of that sort."  
He writes the rule down.  
"Number two: if someone gets hurt, they can call off the game but, the other doesn't win," he writes this rule down as well. "How's that sound?" He looks at me expectantly.  
"I can put up with those." I stand to go but, John stops me.  
"I want your signature Sherlock. I know how you work." He draws two lines, signs his name, then hands me the pen. I sign my name and slide the paper back to John. He looks it over, folds it, then gets up to place it on the mantle.  
"Satisfied?"  
"Very. Well then, let the games begin." He holds out his hand for me to shake. I do. I smile at him and wink saying,  
"Allons-y!" John laughs at the Doctor Who reference.  
"So how do we begin?" He asks.  
"Any way you want. Let's have an hour before we start anything, I have some things I need to tend to."  
John smiles and stands to go, already planning and plotting his various pranks. I chuckle under my breath and walk to my room, closing the door behind me.  
I have a call to make.


	2. Oldest Trick In The Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock pranks John. Enjoy.

Everything is in position.  
'The prank is on' I think, I smile to myself. What a perfectly abused cliche.  
I sit in my chair, close my eyes, and listen carefully: I can hear Mrs Hudson in her kitchen, I can hear the taxis going past our flat. Finally, I hear the front door open. I hear John’s perfectly measured steps up toward our shared flat. He stops at the door.  
“Sherlock?” He calls. “You haven’t rigged the doorknob have you?”  
“No. That is a good idea though.” John sighs deeply as he cautiously pushes through the door.  
“So?” he stands in the doorway expectantly.  
“Yes?”  
“Well...nothing really. I was just wondering what you’re going to do.”  
“John, the whole point of a prank is that you don’t see it coming.” John huffs in disappointment and goes to his chair to sit down. He hesitates, bends forward and starts to carefully inspect his chair.  
“I can assure you, I've done nothing to your chair. Though I suppose I could.” He shoots me a look and sits down carefully. Satisfied that nothing will happen, he settles in. Still watching me closely.  
“I don’t trust you.”  
“I know. You’re not supposed to.” I sigh and stretch. “Date tonight?”  
“Yes, please be nice.”  
“I will d--”  
“So no deductions when I bring her by alright?” he’s still giving me that look. “At the very least, nothing that will completely destroy this relationship. I want this to work for a good, long time.”  
I nod and close my eyes. I’m waiting for him to go exactly where I want him to. I know he won’t for a little while. I can hear him as he moves about the flat. First he walks to the kitchen to make tea.  
“Do you want any Sherlock?”  
“No thanks. I’m not in need of anything at the moment.” He goes back to making his tea. He’s halfway through pouring the water when he stops.  
“What did you do to the water?” I open my eyes and look at him.  
“What do you mean?” I get up and walk to stand next to John. I can feel how warm he is. The glare he shoots me snaps me back to attention.  
“I know you did something to the water, what was it? That’s why you didn't want any tea, am I right?”  
“No. John, the only reason I didn't want tea is simply because I’m not in the mood. You don’t have to worry, I won’t do anything to the food, that I promise.” John looks at me, a distrusting look in his eyes.  
“Take a sip then, I won’t believe you until you prove it to me.” He finishes pouring the water into his cup, then hands it to me.  
I take it, blow on it several times to cool it, then take a sip.  
“Could use some sugar in my opinion,” John stares at me, waiting for something, anything to happen. “See? Everything is alright.”  
John takes the cup back from me, sniffs it, then takes a small, tentative sip. Satisfied, he moves back to his chair. Sitting down, he picks up a book on the table next to him. I sit back down as well, interlacing my fingers under my chin. 

We stay like this for a while, until John closes his book and looks at his watch.  
“I've got to start getting ready.” John stands and walks to his room.  
I smile to myself, knowing what’s coming next:  
John pushes open his door, I hear a loud gasp, a crash, and finally,  
“SHERLOCK!”  
I chuckle as I slowly get up to go see what John wants.  
“Yes?” I step back as he storms toward me.  
“A BUCKET OF WATER! A BLOODY BUCKET OF WATER! WHAT ARE YOU, TWELVE?!”  
I don’t answer at first, I take a moment to appreciate how John looks: his hair is plastered to his forehead, his blue eyes are shooting fire, his clothes are soaked through, and he looks like he wants to punch me.  
“Well?!”  
“You have to admit you didn't see it coming.” Now he’s angry.  
“Clearly I didn't see it coming! I would have dodged it if I had! But really Sherlock?! A bucket of water? That’s the oldest trick in the book!”  
“And yet you didn't think of it.” I smirk. John’s eyes flash fire. He pokes a finger into my chest.  
“I will get revenge. Mark my words Sherlock Holmes; I will get revenge!” He turns and slams into his room.  
“I look forward to it.” I call after him. “I look forward to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's up next. What will the blogging doctor think of?


	3. Oh, You're Rather Clever John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's prank on Sherlock!
> 
> I like this chapter, I hope you will too.

Sherlock has no idea what’s coming….I hope.  
I hum happily to myself as I check everything one last time. I’ve put the tools back in the toolbox, and positioned everything back the way it was. One last thing. I pick up Sherlock’s violin, and place it off centre enough so that Sherlock will notice. A perfect distraction in my opinion.  
I check my watch, it’s almost seven. Sherlock should be home any minute now. I make my way to the kitchen to put the kettle on.  
“John?” I almost jump out of my skin. I whip around, Sherlock is standing a few feet behind me, hands behind his back, looking at me with those god damned eyes. I still can’t find a name for that colour.  
“Don’t do that to me!” I say. “You almost gave me a bloody heart attack.” He smirks and turns away, walking to his room to hang up his coat and scarf. I’m just finishing up preparing my tea, when he comes back, mobile in his hand.  
“Case?” I ask.  
“No, just reading emails. We may have a few clients coming by in a bit.” He pauses, reading, then looks back at me. “Is that alright?”  
It takes me a minute to realise what he said.  
“I’m sorry, are you asking me?” I say, trying to disguise my genuine surprise with sarcasm. He casts a glance around the room before answering,  
“Well, there’s no one else here. I was making sure it wouldn't interfere with your plans. That is, if you had any. Which you clearly don’t.”  
I nod, not even bothering to ask how he knows I don’t have any plans for the evening.  
“No, that won’t bother me at all. A few small cases would be nice.” I smile.  
Sherlock stares at me for a moment, trying to see in my face what I’m planning. I glance at his violin for a brief second, not brief enough for him to not notice. He follows my glance to his violin. He looks back and forth between the violin and myself before moving to the instrument. He picks it up and turns it over in his hands carefully.  
“Did you do something to it?” He asks.  
“No actually, but I thought that might work as a decent distraction though.” Sherlock stares at me for a moment as he registers what I said. It hits, and he scans the room, looking for my prank.  
“What is it?” He asks.  
“Sherlock,” I say, quoting what he said to me yesterday. “The whole point of a prank is that you don’t see it coming.” He grunts, as he continues to inspect his violin, making sure it’s alright.  
He opens his mouth to say something to me, when Mrs. Hudson knocks on our door.  
“Boys? There’s someone wanting to see you.” She steps aside to allow the young woman to enter.  
She’s a few years younger than Sherlock. Her eyes are a stormy blue, her bright blonde hair is longer than shoulder length. She’s wearing a black t-shirt, skinny jeans, high-heeled boots, and a black leather jacket. She’s American, what’s she doing in London? She has a dangerous air around her, a “femme fatale” if you would.  
“Hello. Are you Sherlock Holmes?” she asks, holding her hand out to Sherlock.  
“Yes,” he takes it and shakes. “This is doctor John Watson. He helps with the cases.” He gestures his hand at me.  
“Pleased to meet the both of you. I’m Ruby.” 

I watch as Sherlock sits and listens in that way only he can. Ruby presents her case: a missing boyfriend named Sam. She provides a picture of the young man, he’s clearly tall, has long dark-brown hair, and hazel eyes.  
After a while of listening to her case, Sherlock accepts it, bids her farewell, and moves to set up his usual wall map. He tacks up the map of the city, giving it a once-over before tacking the picture of the boyfriend up next to it. He’ll spend a good few hours just staring at that wall. I get up and grab a book, settling for what I know will be a long wait.

Several hours later, at about ten at night, he jumps up suddenly from his spot on the sofa, muttering something under his breath about possible locations.  
“I’ve got it!” he yells. “John, hand me my phone.”  
I look around, but I don’t see it.  
“Where?” I ask.  
“Oh for--” he steps up onto the coffee table.  
There’s a loud creak. It surprisingly takes Sherlock a moment to realise what’s going on. Before he has a chance to move, the coffee table collapses under him. He slips and falls, almost flat on his face. I’m laughing far too hard. I’m practically crying as he picks himself up, straightening his clothes.  
“You loosened the legs?” He asks. “That’s quite a bit of preparation for a quick moment of hilarity.”  
I wipe tears from my eyes as I try to focus on his words.  
“I’m sorry,” I burst out laughing again. “Just your face, your fall, they were priceless!”  
Sherlock smiles, “I admit, I never saw that coming.” He starts to laugh.  
We end up laughing for a good half hour until finally, glancing at my watch, I realise how tired I am.  
“I’m pretty tired Sherlock. I think I’m going to go to bed.”  
“Alright. Sleep well. I’ll be planning my revenge if you need me.” Sherlock laughs again. “We’re going to have to do something about that table.”  
I nod, yawning. “We’ll figure something out in the morning. Goodnight Sherlock.”  
“Goodnight John.” I watch as he steps around the collapsed coffee table to go back to Ruby’s case.  
I can’t help wondering what’s in store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooo....OC up next! 
> 
> I hope some one liked my Supernatural reference.
> 
> Muahaha! 
> 
> I hope you'll like what our anonymous friend has in store.


	4. Hello Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old friends, dead bodies, and Italian food. Oh my.
> 
> OC POV
> 
> The Dynamic Duo have a couple of visitors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The OC is based off my very good friend who helped me write this. Much thanks you pretentious, snobby oik. <3

I’ve been sitting in here for almost an entire day. Twenty-three hours, seven minutes, forty-five seconds, and counting. Sherlock and John didn’t come home last night, or this entire day. I’m beginning to wonder if they’ve moved and left me.  
“Watch them end up living in Bulgaria.” I mutter to myself.  
As if on cue, I hear Sherlock’s laugh coming from downstairs.  
“Finally,” I whisper. It’s about bloody time.  
I look through the crack one last time to check my marvelous handiwork. I really have outdone myself this time. I deserve an award. I hear Sherlock’s long strides and John’s clunky, hobbit-esc gait on the stairs. Their conversation gets gradually louder as they near the flat. John’s laughing:  
“Greg’s face! Priceless!” John laughs.  
“I wish I’d gotten a picture.” Sherlock laughs along.  
They push open the door, and their conversation abruptly stops. There’s a moment of silence in which I stifle a snicker. Then a quiet,  
“Oh my god,” Coming from John.  
Sherlock walks to the body lying face-down in the middle of the floor. I cross my fingers; this is the crucial moment.  
“Female, mid-twenties…make that early twenties.” He picks up her right hand and wipes the blood off to further inspect it. “She’s accustomed to holding something heavy. Not normal equipment, too light. A sword…” He trails off as he notices something under her hand. He picks up a small round object and holds it aloft.  
“What is that?” John asks peering over his arm. I savour the momentary look of confusion that flits across Sherlock’s face before it turns to grudging recognition.  
“It’s a watch gear. Older model, from the forties…no wait a minute, this is authentic Victorian." He stops, bringing a hand to his forehead. "You actually destroyed one of your watches for this? WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!” He yells.  
“You’re a bit off!” I call from my hiding place. “It’s a spare from a twenties pocket watch I was dismantling.”  
“Where are you?” He asks again, scanning the room for me.  
“I’m in the cupboard. I’m actually, kind of stuck.” I confess, embarrassed. “Help? Please?” I watch as John recovers from his shock and runs over to the body, only to spring back practically shrieking like a little girl as it grabs his ankle. Sherlock chuckles under his breath as he opens the cupboard for me, his somewhat compacted friend.  
“Sorry John,” says the “corpse” as she sits up and takes the black wig off her head, revealing her bright orange hair. “I didn’t mean to frighten you that badly. Are you alright?”  
John braces himself against the wall, catching his breath.  
“Okay,” he says once he’s breathing properly, “I recogise Nicolas’ voice, but who’s the woman?”  
“Oh she’s—HEY!” I exclaim as Sherlock shakes the cupboard from behind, causing me to fall out face first. “I. Hate. You.” He doesn’t answer.  
“I’m his fiancé, Anna. Pleased to meet you,” She shakes his hand. “Nicky? Are you alright?”  
I plop my head heavily onto the ground. “I’m dead. He killed me.”  
“Oh don’t be over dramatic Nicolas.” Sherlock says.  
“This is coming from you, Sherls?” I say, one eyebrow raised. He punches me in the arm. “You hit like a girl.”  
“That’s going to bruise later, and you know it.”  
“I know.” I say through gritted teeth, holding my arm.  
*******  
*John’s POV (it works better)*  
Two hours later, we’re seated at a restaurant, ordering Italian.  
“When Nicky told me about your little prank war, I immediately volunteered. It sounded like so much fun.” She smiles and takes a sip of her sparkling water.  
I ask, “How on earth did he know about it in the first place?” I cast looks between the three of them.  
“Shall I explain, or will you?” Nicolas asks, without looking up from his menu.  
“I will. He is my friend after all.” Sherlock says.  
“And that’s all I’m sure.” He says, sniffing at his wine. Sherlock glares at him.  
“We’re not a couple!” I shoot at Nicolas.  
“Oh of course not.” He clearly doesn’t believe me.  
Nicolas is about twenty, with straight, messy black hair, grey eyes, and is dressed in Victorian clothing with a waistcoat and frock. His strange leather top hat, gloves, sword (yes, he carries a sword), and emerald green overcoat from some eternally unnamed military had been taken at the door. His girlfriend is a lovely young lady of twenty-one with fiery-red hair, and golden eyes. She seems to have some Irish blood, but as she informs me, she was born in France. Both she and Nicolas were raised in the American Southwest.  
The details of how Sherlock and Nicolas met remain unknown. When I ask, I’m answered with a quick,  
“Well…ummm…it’s a bit—oh here’s the food.”  
The waiter sets down a platter heaping with food that none of us had ordered.  
“We didn’t order any of this?” Nicolas says, sounding annoyed.  
“It es on ze ‘ouse!” the man says in the phoniest French accent I’ve ever heard.  
All of us look up at the man.  
“Helloooooo Sherlylocks daaahling.” He coos in a sing-song mostly Irish drawl. We all look up in disbelief into the mustachioed face of James Moriarty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you miss me?


	5. I'll Come Get You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty's shenanigans get a little...sexualish. 
> 
> Sherlock's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY! I AM SO SO SORRY! I know I haven't updated in forever, there's been A LOT of stuff going on. Exams coming up (gross). 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this longer chapter as an attempt at making up all the missed days.

We all look up simultaneously. Why the hell is James Moriarty, the man none of us has seen in years suddenly serving us Italian food? There has to be something else going on.  
“Did you miss me?” He grins down at us. We’re all silent for several moments before I speak.  
“Take that god-awful piece of fluff of your lip James.” I say, sitting up a little straighter and taking a sip of my wine.  
“Awww. Don’t be such a spoilsport Sherly.” Moriarty tuts, but obliges, pulling off the false moustache.  
“And don’t call me ‘Sherly,’ I hate that.” I cast a calm glance at both Nicolas and Anna who have both straightened. Anna’s hand has dropped to her side, Nicolas’ hand slides into his breast pocket.  
“Weeeell...I hate to be a downer,” says Moriarty. “I simply came to collect a little someone.” He places a hand on John’s shoulder who tenses and stares at me pleadingly.  
The silent conversation that passes between us goes from John worrying for his life, to me comforting him, to him nodding and relaxing slightly, begging with his eyes for me to do something.  
“Whatever you’re about to do James, don’t. I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.”  
“Sorry darling, my mind is already made up. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to return him in… mostly one piece.”  
I shoot a look to Nicolas and Anna, attempting to confirm if they’re ready to attack, however Moriarty, being Moriarty, picks up on it.  
“Not so fast Sherlylocks.” He snaps his fingers and several extremely large men in suits appear and hold the three of us back while another takes hold of John.  
“SHERLOCK!” John yells, struggling against the man now hauling him towards the door.  
“Don’t worry John, I’ll come get you!” I call after him as he disappears with Jim smirking at his back.  
"Get off of me, you great bafoon!" Nicolas yells, struggling to get free, "I'll rip your tong out and cram it back down your throat!"  
Moriarty turns before leaving, whispers something to the man holding my arms, blows me a kiss, and sashays out of the front door.

There’s a moment and I realise just how quiet the restaurant is. I look around at the many faces of surprise staring at us. I ignore them, turning my attention to the giant holding my arms behind my back.  
“Hello Moran. How are you?” I say, wiggling my wrists in his grasp. Nicolas and Anna stare at me in wonder. “What? Mr. Moran and I have a bit of history together.”  
“So I assumed.” says Anna.  
“Any chance of you telling us where your boss was headed Sebastian?” I ask. He loosens his grip on my wrists, I shake my hands to aid the return of blood flow to my fingers.  
“He’s headed back to your flat.” He says. Sebastian gives an signal for Anna and Nicolas to be released.  
“Really? Why?” Asks Nicolas, as his arms are also released.  
“There’s probably something he needs or wants.” Says Anna, adjusting the large knife that has been hidden in her belt.  
“Obviously. He’s going to get it too unless we hurry,” I say, standing. “Will the two of you cover the meal and I’ll pay you back?” Nicolas opens his mouth to say something, but Anna shuts him up with a quick,  
“Of course we will. Call us if you need anything.” I smile my thanks and dart out of the restaurant. As I leave, I hear Nicolas whimper, "But...but I don't have any money." He says, purposely cracking his voice for comedic effect. I step onto the pavement, hailing the first taxi I see.

************

I enter Baker Street as quietly as I can. Mrs. Hudson’s door is closed and her lights are out. She’s probably asleep by now. The door to the flat is ajar, I stop at the top of the stairs to listen. I can hear Moriarty talking.  
“I mean, it’s not like I didn’t try you know?” I hear the creak of the floorboards under his feet. “I must admit, that first time I met you, you put up such a good fight. Mirroring my voice so flatly, even though you could hear how I wanted it to sound. That was quite the act of defiance Doctor Watson.” There’s a whimper, clearly from John. It sounds like there’s something in his mouth. Oh god.  
I push open the door carefully.  
“Ah,” says Moriarty as I enter the room. “I was wondering when you’d join us. Would you mind closing the door?”  
The sight that greets me makes me stop dead in the doorway: Moriarty is sitting on the sofa, feet propped up on the newly repaired coffee table, but it’s John that makes me forget how to breathe for a moment. He’s tied up, his arms above his head, attached to the ceiling with a rope. He’s been stripped down to only his pants, and in his mouth is a bright red ball-gag.  
“Oh. Just look at that precious face,” coos Moriarty, coming to stand next to me. He pats my shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you two have some fun as well.” He walks back to John.  
I take the moment to shoot off a text to Anna.  
‘Baker street. NOW! -SH’  
“So why now?” I ask. Anything to stall for time.  
Moriarty turns his attention back to me. “Why not? I got bored.” He shrugs as if it’s the most obvious idea in the world. “I mean, you get bored, don’t you Sherlock.”  
“Everyone gets bored James, not everyone has the same ideas of entertainment as you do however.” Keep him talking.  
“Well obviously,” he says. “And not everyone has a gang of thugs to help relieve the boredom now do they?” He giggles like a child with a new toy.  
I’m struggling to find another question to ask. What now? I know his motives. I take a tentative step forward.  
“DON’T YOU MOVE!” Moriarty yells. “Or I’ll cut your little pets throat!” He presses a blade I hadn’t seen before to John’s neck. John’s breathing gets more rapid, I can hear it from where I stand.  
“What do you want James?” I ask as my phone buzzes.  
“What do you think Sherlock?” He says. He turns away from me again.  
I read the text:  
‘We’re outside. Should we come up? -AS’  
‘Yes. Right about now would be great. -SH’  
“What are you looking at there Sherly?” I hear Moriarty ask.  
“Nothing. Just reading a text.” I step aside as Nicolas and Anna come bolting up the stairs, slamming the door open. I look them over, Anna has her sword pointed straight at Moriarty’s throat, Nicolas somehow made it behind him and has flintlock pistol to Moriarty’s head.  
“Do you ever stop with the steampunk weapons?” I ask rolling my eyes.  
“Not on your life.” Nicolas chuckles.  
I walk over to John, removing the gag. “Are you alright?” John nods, eyes slipping closed. I hold out my hand to no one in particular, Anna understands and hands me her knife. I cut the ropes holding John up, he slips into my arms.  
“I’m going to take John to bed. I assume the two of you have this well in hand?”  
“Of course,” says Anna. “Yell if you need anything.” She smiles.  
I hoist John over my shoulder, and make my way to the bedroom. 

*************

“Sherlock?” It’s been about an hour since I put John to bed. I’ve been sitting in my chair on my computer.  
“Oh good. You’re awake.” I stand up and walk over to the bed. “How are you feeling?”  
John sits up. “Tired, but better. Thanks for coming to my rescue Sherlock.” He smiles and tries to stand up.  
“No no, none of that. What do you need?” I ask, pushing John gently back onto the bed.  
“I was going to get some water.”  
“I’ll get it for you.” I stand up and go to the kitchen. Anna and Nicolas are sitting at the table drinking tea.  
“How is he?” Anna asks when I walk into the room.  
“Good. I’m just getting him some water.” She smiles and turns back to her boyfriend. I pour the glass of water and head back to the room.

“John?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Alright, I was just seeing if you were still awake.” John sits up and gives me a small smile as I hand him the glass of water. I watch as he drinks. When he’s done, he hands me back the glass.  
“Thanks.”  
“Of course,” I pause, looking for the right words. “Did Moriarty...do anything to you?”  
John stares at me for a moment before he answers, “No. You got here before he had a chance to do anything.”  
I breathe a sigh of relief. John sits up suddenly and wraps his arms around me.  
“Thank you Sherlock,” he looks up at me, his blue eyes are filled with tears. “I was so afraid that he would do something horrible.”  
I hug him close. “I would never have let him do anything to you.”  
John pushes himself away from me, I follow him with my eyes. Suddenly, he lunges forward, pressing his lips against mine. There’s a moment of surprise in which I don’t know what to do, but then it registers in my mind, and I kiss him back as we fall back on the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it!  
> Again; I am so so sorry I haven't updated in forever. I'll do my best to make it up.


	6. "Married to your work"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yaaay for smut!   
> John and Sherlock have some....fun in the privacy of Sherlock's room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written anything sexual before, so please tell me what I can do to fix it. 
> 
> Anyway! I hope you like it.

We fall back on the bed, John’s lips still plastered to mine. He groans, pulling on my shirt to get me closer to him. I wrap my arms around his back, holding him suspended above the bed. There’s no talking at all, only John’s breathy moans and my heavy breathing. I slip back into myself long enough to realise the door to the room is still open. I sit up, pulling away from John and sliding off the bed. John grabs my arm,  
“Where are you going?” he asks, pulling on my arm to tempt me back into the bed.  
“Only closing the door love,” I pry his hand off of my arm, pressing a kiss to his palm. “Don’t worry.” He whines but allows me to make my way to the door to close it.   
I cast a glance into the hall, I can just barely make out Nicolas and Anna in the sitting room.  
“Sherlock!” John calls from behind me. I smile and close the door, turning back to the dissolute doctor lying on my bed. His face is flushed, and his blonde hair looks like he has recently been in a windstorm, I can’t help but laugh.   
“What’s so funny?” John demands.   
“Nothing darling.” I crawl back over him.   
John grunts, pawing at the front of my shirt,  
“Off? Please?” I laugh again, sitting up to unbutton it. John whines again at the loss of contact. I unbutton it faster, doing my best to go along with what John wants.   
John reaches up, grabbing the collar of my shirt. I catch his hands just as he starts to pull.  
“I know you’re eager John, but I don’t want you to ruin my shirt.” He whimpers but releases me.   
I pull off the purple fabric and drop it to the floor beside the bed. John reaches up and grabs the back of my head, pulling me into another deep kiss.   
“S-Sherlock,” he moans breathily, undoing my belt buckle and pulling down the zip. “I need you.”   
I pull off my trousers and pants, dropping them next to my shirt on the floor. I move back over John, kissing his neck before moving down his chest, leaving bite marks and slight bruises down his torso. John loves every moment of it; moaning and twisting beneath me. I hold his hips down as I reach the waistband of his pants, he starts to squirm more. I hook my fingers into the waistband and pull them down, slowly.   
Halfway down, I stop,   
“John? Are you able to listen to me?” He nods, eyes closed. “Open your eyes.” John breathes out, opening his eyes as though they have weights on them.   
“Please Sherlock. I want you.” His fingers brush my shoulder.  
“I know John. Listen to me, I want you to lie still as much as possible,” he stares at me. “Do you think you can do that?”   
There’s a moment of stillness, in which the only sound is John’s laboured breathing. After several moments, John nods.   
“Good.” I continue to pull down his pants. John shifts a bit, but does his best to keep still. I stop for a moment as I finally lay eyes on his erection. I go back to my pursuit at hand. I pull off his pants completely, tossing them behind me, not caring where they fall.  
I move back up, kissing John’s chest.  
“Sherlock!” John moans out as I find the sensitive spot on his shoulder. It’s right next to his scar. “Please Sherlock, I want…” His sentence trails off.   
“What John? What do you want?” He groans as I stop kissing him. “John, I need an answer.”  
John grunts as I sit back from him, still straddling his hips. I search his face for an answer I know only he can give me.   
“Well?”   
“I-I…” I can tell he’s embarrassed.   
“You can do it John.”  
He’s silent for a moment, calming his breathing. After what seems like an age, John finally answers.  
“I want you…inside me.”  
I smile and lean over to my bedside table. I open the drawer, pulling out a condom and lube. John raises an eyebrow at me.  
“What?”  
“‘Married to your work’ huh?”  
“Am I not allowed to have an affair?” I say. John slaps me in the arm, laughing and falling back on the bed.   
I apply a large amount of lubricant on my fingers and lean over John, kissing him.  
“This is going to feel a bit odd,” I stop. “Have you ever had sex with another man before, John?” He stops as well.  
“No,” he says. “Never.”   
“Alright, this will feel odd.” I gently push one finger into John. His back arches and he cries out. I stop moving.  
“Did I hurt you?” I ask, worried.  
“No, you did something though,” he shudders and catches his breath. “Something...amazing.”  
I laugh softly. “As long as I didn't hurt you.”  
I start moving my hand again, pushing the one finger in and out. After a bit, I feel his muscles relax, I carefully add another finger. John moans at the extra feeling. He’s so sensitive.  
“S-Sherlock. Please,” he begs. “If you don’t do something else soon…”  
I cut him off with a twist of my wrist. He gasps and jerks wildly. I pull my fingers out and hold down his hips.   
I grab the red condom packet, tearing it open. John watches as I roll it on over my erection.  
“Lie back, John.” He does.  
I crawl up his body, positioning myself at his hole.   
“Ready?”   
“Oh god yes.”   
I slowly push in. John almost screams, his body twists. His hands grab at the pillow under his head. I lean down and wrap my arms around John’s back, pulling him into my arms. I hold him closer as his breathing calms.  
“John, look at me,” his blue eyes have small tears in them. “I’m going to move, okay?” John nods, wrapping his arms around my neck. I give a small thrust, John moans, tightening his arms and pulling me close. I move again, still just as slowly and gently. John’s breathing is laboured as I find a soft rhythm of thrusting into my lover’s body.   
“Harder.” John moans.  
“You’re sure?”  
“Yes.”   
I start up again, still slow, but beginning to speed up. John groans into my ear, starting to bounce on my cock on his own.   
“Sherlock, I’m close.” He breathes into my ear. I drop my hand to John’s lap, wrapping my fingers around his length, stroking him. His head falls back, eyes closed, mouth hanging open. I close my eyes too, I’m also close to finishing. I listen to John’s quick breathing and moans that grow louder and louder the nearer to orgasm he gets. I speed up my ministrations.   
John yells, almost screams as he comes, white ropes spurting over his stomach and my hand. He clenches around me, sending me over the edge as well. I groan into his neck, opening my eyes and kissing his neck. John collapses backward onto the bed, making a small noise when I slip out of him. I stand up and grab a box of tissues, disposing of the used condom. I climb back onto the bed, using the tissues to gently clean John’s stomach. I throw away the tissues and pull the blankets over my lover and I.  
“That was…amazing.” John says. I laugh, snuggling closer to him and kissing the back of his neck.  
“Care to go again some time?”   
“Sure. How about in a little bit?” I sit up, looking at him.  
“You mean”  
“Yeah.” I laugh, kissing his cheek.  
“I think I can do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said before: please give me any suggestions you might have about how I can make it more betterer (I'm aware that's not a word).


	7. Shhhh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solving murders...kinda. It's a whole thing, you'll just have to read it.
> 
> POV OC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is every other day working? Once exams are over I should be able to post a bit more. Any way, I hope you like it! 
> 
> Shout out to my friend who helped me write this chapter, I'm still calling him a pretentious, snobby oik.

It’s been about three hours of assorted… noises coming from Sherlock’s room.  
It reminds me of a slaughter house I had the great misfortune of visiting in Brazil the last time I was there. I mention this to Anna, and she comments,  
“They sound like a bad porno.”  
“Still, something must be said for their stamina, though.” We both laugh quietly and return to our respective books.  
I glance at my pocket watch, and realise that the noises have stopped.  
“Well, the pig’s finally dead,” I comment sardonically to Anna.  
She punches me in the arm softly. “Go get them up, I’ll call that girl from earlier .”  
“Right… lucky me…” I spin on my heel and head toward the bedroom.  
I knock twice. “Coming in.” Sherlock has just enough time to pull a sheet over John and himself.  
I blink coolly at them, and comment in a bored tone, “Well it’s about bloody fucking time. But seriously, get dressed, you idiots have a client.”  
Sherlock and John begin babbling over each other trying to come up with some form of excuse, but I’m already leaving. I’m almost down the hall when my impish side gets the better of me. I poke my head back through the now open door. “Now you can add an army doctor to the list of things you've done, along with crack, LSD, heroin, and pot.”  
I duck back into the hall as a pillow flies past my head, accompanied with a shout of,  
“I NEVER DID CRACK OR ACID!”  
“Suuuure you didn't,” I call back sarcastically, gesturing to no one as I walk down the hall, back to the sitting room. 

Ten minutes later, Sherlock and John are sitting in their usual chairs, with new clothes, looking increasingly embarrassed every time they look at Anna and I, or each other, or anything for that matter. The young woman, sitting in the “client chair” is doing a miraculous job of keeping herself together after what she’s described to us.  
I glance at Sherlock as he averts his eyes from the skull on the mantle that he appears to think is judging him.  
“Mr. Holmes?” The young woman asks, trying to catch his attention. “Did you hear me?”  
“Sherlock is…” I trail off. “I’ll take care of this.”  
I nudge Anna and she grabs a couple pieces of paper and a pen from the table in front of us.  
“So, you’re saying that the police found your brothers body in the library, rather brutally murdered, on the wall next to him, in what we assume to be his blood was written a message. Did I miss anything?” She shakes her head as she starts to cry again. Anna stands up and hands her the box of tissues. I look at Sherlock who is staring at his hands like they’re the most interesting things in the world. I roll my eyes and turn my attention back to the now sobbing young woman.  
“Listen, I know you've been through a lot, but I need you to do your best.” I say, putting on the most sympathetic face I can. She nods, wiping her eyes and breathing to calm herself.  
“All I know is that they almost weren't able to identify him. I told you that they said there was a word, they didn't say what.” Her body shakes with fresh sobs.  
“We’ll do everything we can,” Anna says, rubbing her back soothingly. “Have faith.”

After a cup of hot tea in Sherlock’s face and a five minute taxi ride, the four of us are at the library. Anna and I are stopped at the door by Lestrade, I reach into my breast pocket and pull out a badge, flashing it at the Detective Inspector. He nods and let’s us pass. John stares at me,  
“W-what was that?” He asks.  
“Oh nothing,” I say, putting the badge away.  
Sherlock rolls his eyes and moves into the building. He casts a glance at me and says to John, “I wonder which ID he used this time.”  
“It’s pleasure to have you Captain.” Lestrade says, giving a half-hearted salute.  
“Oh that one.” Sherlock mutters.  
John looks back and forth between Sherlock and I, we both pretend not to notice.  
John opens his mouth to say something but is cut off by Sherlock muttering a quick, “Don’t bother.”

Inside, Sherlock is his usual self again, darting back and forth between, well, everything. The client had been right: the body was almost unrecognizable. A mutilated, and charred torso was propped against a wall in a pool of blood. It's head was a few feet away, charred beyond recognition with it's nose and ears cut off, eyes gouged out, and all of it's teeth missing. The legs had been left nearby, and the arms nailed through the palms to the wall behind it. It was truly horrific. Anna looks away in disgust, gathering her wits before turning back to look at it.  
“What’s happened to it?” I ask Lestrade who also seems highly disturbed.  
“As far as we can tell… everything,” he says. “It’s been stabbed, shot, garroted, clobbered, hung, whipped, burned, dismembered, beheaded, we haven’t had a chance to test the blood, but I wouldn't be surprised if we find poison. It's a wonder we were able to ID him at all. Had to hunt around and collect all of the teeth, then use dental records. And to make it worse, as far as we can tell, this all happened while he was still alive. And then there’s the message.” Sherlock and I look up at the same time. Written on the wall, in what we all assume is the victim’s blood, is one word: "Shhhhhh…"  
I turn to Sherlock. “Any ideas?”  
“Seven, so far.” He shrugs.  
"Psychopathic librarian out for some loud kid's head?" Sherlock and I both laugh.  
"We can't giggle at a crime scene." Sherlock mutters to me.  
"That's never stopped us before," I comment back to him, laughing a bit.  
John stands next to Sherlock, “You will explain this shit later.” He mutters to the taller man, referring to both the exchange between the DI and myself, and my comment about "before."  
I chime in, “Don’t bet on it.”  
“It’s really best not to ask.” Sherlock says.  
“Why?” John asks me.  
“Because," we respond in unison.  
John’s about to say something else, but Sherlock wraps an arm around him, pulling the blonde closer. I watch as Lestrade whispers something to Donovan, they look at John and Sherlock and giggle like teenage girls. John blushes and turns away. This could not have been a worse place. Even so, I slip an arm around Anna’s waist, catching Anderson scowling and turning away to sulk. Sherlock clears his throat, gesturing toward the body, I remember why we’re here. Leaving our respective lovers, Sherlock and I step over the body to examine the message written on the wall. He pulls out his magnifying glass, studying the trails of blood going down the wall.  
“Well?” I ask.  
“Revenge most likely.” Sherlock straightens, turning back to the body. “Could also just be a psychopath out on a murder spree.”  
“What makes you say revenge?” I step closer to the wall. “Doesn't it seem like a bit too much for revenge?”  
“That’s exactly what makes me say revenge. There’s so much, it must have been someone who really wanted him gone.”  
He stoops down to look closer, his hand is halfway to his pocket when a scream comes from the other end of the library. Everyone stops and turns. The librarian is standing on her desk, Donovan is sitting in front of her, pencil suspended above her pad of paper.  
“THAT STUPID ARSE WOULDN'T STOP TALKING IN MY LIBRARY!” The librarian screams. “I decided to shut him up forever!”  
There’s a moment of silence in which everyone’s eyes move, but nothing else.  
I look at Sherlock, who looks at John, who looks at Anna, who looks back at me.  
"Holy shit, I was right." I mutter.  
Sherlock snaps back to himself, grabbing my arm and producing a pair of handcuffs from somewhere. We run to the mad librarian-woman, she’s still standing on her desk, screaming at anyone who is near. Sherlock grabs her arms, handcuffing her quickly, and pushing her toward me. I catch her as she falls from the desk, and use the pressure points on her neck to knock her out. I carry the sleeping psychopath over to Lestrade and Anderson who are standing side by side, eyes wide, and drop her with a thump at their feet.  
“I assume you can take care of this Detective Inspector.” I say as Sherlock walks back to her desk, opening the drawers. He finds one locked, and after breaking it open with his elbow, reaches in and pulls out a bottle of arsenic, a butcher's cleaver, a pair of pliers, a gun fitted with a silencer, a bloodstained bullwhip, a lighter and can of air freshener, a cloth, a bloodied baseball bat, and a pair of bright red gloves that had once been white.  
Donovan snaps back into action, John, Sherlock, Anna, and I are ushered out of the front door of the building.

The four of us are standing in front of the library, all of us still unsettled from the days events.  
“So…” Anna says, breaking the awkward silence.  
“That was pretty easy.” John comments quietly.  
“I was right,” Sherlock says. “Revenge AND a psychopathic killer.”  
"We were both right," I say. "She wanted some stupid kid to be quiet." We all laugh.  
Sherlock takes John’s hand, I take Anna’s.  
“Dinner?” John asks.  
“Gladly,” I say.  
“Italian?” Sherlock suggests.  
“Geronimo!” Anna shouts, starting off down the pavement.   
Sherlock, John, and I follow after her, singing the Doctor Who parody of Queen's 'Bohemian Rhapsody'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! 
> 
> The actual prank war will return in the next chapter, stay tuned.


	8. Just A Red Herring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prank war has returned! John pulls a great one.
> 
> POV John 
> 
> POV Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters uploaded in one day?  
> WHAAAAAT?! I'm trying to make up all those missed days.
> 
> Double thanks to that pretentious, snobby oik who always has great ideas for this thing.
> 
> Anyways, hope you guys enjoy!

The prank war has sort of dwindled. However Nicolas, being who he is, is determined to rekindle it and get it into a full-on forest fire. Which, as he says, “will decimate the natural resources of at least five countries and leave over three million homeless and poverty stricken!” He tosses his head back cackling like a mad scientist. He has his evil take-over-the-world moments that would terrify most. I’m convinced he’s broken out of at least one mental asylum. Oh… that’s probably where he and Sherlock met.  
I shake off the thought and return to planning the prank with Nicolas.  
“So, explain to me again exactly what this is?” I say, setting down two cups of tea.  
“Well, the idea came to me after that whole incident with Moriarty last week.”  
I interrupt, “If it has something to do with me getting raped, then no.”  
He gives me a creepy grin, “Do have a little faith Johnny boy.” He starts to sing ‘O Danny Boy’ replacing “Danny” with “Johnny.” Like I said, mental asylum.  
I sit down and pick up my cup, I’m about to take a sip when Nicolas suddenly slams both his fists on the table making me jump and spill tea on myself.  
“THE PLAN!” He yells. I think he must enjoy giving people mini heart attacks. I put my cup back on the table and grab a tissue to wipe myself off.  
“Yes?” I mutter.  
As he relays his completely insane idea to me, I find myself beginning to like it. Soon, I’m nodding and giggling, giving small suggestions as to how we can refine it and make it go smoothly. He begins drawing up our master plan on a piece of paper, detailed map style. I give pointers, cut out a few things, and after about ten minutes, we have our “master prank.”  
“Sherlock is going to kill you.” I laugh, wiping eraser shavings off of the table.  
“Oh I know. It’ll be worth it just to see his face.” Nicolas says. We laugh together and shake hands.  
“So,” he says, standing up, “we need about five yards of rope, a taxi, an old abandoned warehouse, a large red button, a bottle of Chloroform, a shipping container, and four hundred pounds of raw herring.”

**Sherlocks POV**

I walk through the door, a bag of Chinese takeout hooked over one arm as I struggle to remove my coat.  
“John?” I call. There’s no answer. Maybe he went to sleep.  
I scan the sitting room for any sign of him. Suddenly, I hear a loud yell coming from the room I now share with John. I drop everything and run to the room. Inside, is a large man bending over John, tying his arms behind his back. He looks up at me with frightened eyes.  
“What the he--” I’m stopped by a handkerchief being forced over my nose and mouth. Chloroform. Great. Fuck. The last thing I see before I pass out, is a cloth also being forced over John’s nose and mouth.

I wake up in an almost pitch black room. There’s nothing around me at all. I reach into my pocket and grab my mobile, no signal. I use the light from the screen as a torch to try to find a door. Instead, I see a piece of paper lying on the floor. I pick it up and read it:  
"Dear Mr. Holmes,  
The door is unlocked, do come find us. It should be fairly simple for you.  
-XX”  
I drop the note. A constant stream of “I’m going to kill them whoever they are” going through my head. I search the darkness again, finally laying eyes on the door. True to the note, it’s unlocked. I walk through it into a dark hallway. I can make out the weak shine of light from under a door. I run to it, pressing my ear to the cool metal.  
I can just make out voices, “Talk damn it! I want answers!” I don’t know who it belongs to.  
Then there’s a quiet, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, please!” It’s clearly Johns voice.  
Without thinking, I burst through the door. I hear a loud, “NOW!” I stop, wait, that was Nicolas’ voice.  
There’s a quiet beep and a creaking just above my head. I look up just as the first of the raw herring begin to fall. The next thing I know, I’m buried up to my neck in sushi. I look at the seven people standing before me, all with giant grins on their faces. Nicolas and Anna stand with their arms linked, laughing like maniacs. John is grinning and practically howling with laughter. The large man who “kidnapped” John is clapping his hands, trying to catch his breath. Lestrade, staying true to form, has his camera phone out, filming I assume. Molly is wiping tears from her eyes as she gasps for air. Mycroft is leaning on his umbrella, a large smile on his face.  
“I must say, that was truly worth the price of admission.” Mycroft says, brushing a non-existent piece of dust off of his sleeve.  
“You made him pay to see this?” I demand, freeing myself from the pile of fish.  
“Who do you think bought all the herring?” Nicolas says, finally able to catch his breath. I nod in agreement.  
The large “kidnapper” approaches me, hand outstretched. “I’m Andrew Mills, an old friend of Nicolas’.” He says. I take it and shake. He’s easily six foot, nine. Has a shaved head and a nicely trimmed beard. He’s African-American, a New Yorker if I had to guess. Recently divorced, good with food, probably owns a restaurant or pub. He has a gentle kindness to him, not at all like the dangerous kidnapper I saw him acting as before. He’s quite friendly actually.  
Nicolas busts out laughing again. “You should have seen you face!” He cackles. I roll my eyes, fighting an urge to punch him. It’s then I catch Molly sneaking glances at Andrew. I smile and walk over to her,  
“Come here.” I say, leading her over the incredibly tall man. “Molly Hooper, allow me to present Andrew Mills. Andrew, this is Molly.” The two greet each other like scared children, Molly blushing profusely.  
I walk over to John. “Was this his idea?” I ask, gesturing toward Nicolas.  
“Mostly, yes,” John says. “I did add some stuff though.” I don’t ask what.  
“You know, if this was an actual kidnapping, you’d be dead by now,” Lestrade says. I open my mouth to contradict him. “And don’t try to convince me you knew it wasn't real because you didn't and you know it”  
“Yeah,” Nicolas says. “George has a point.”  
“It’s Greg.” Lestrade says.  
“No, it’s George.” Nicolas says.  
“I think I should know my own name.” Lestrade shoots back.  
“Yeah, you’d think.”  
“Alright, ladies.” John says, stopping the fight before it becomes a war. 

We all make our way to the front door, laughing and talking. Andrew and Molly are glued to each other's sides. Mycroft and Lestrade are exchanging hushed words. Nicolas and Anna are giggling to each other.  
Once outside, Mycroft offers Lestrade a ride in his limo. The two of them leave without another word to any of us. Andrew says goodbye and heads down the pavement, Molly yells goodbye as she runs to catch up to him. It’s only Anna, John, Nicolas, and myself. Anna flags down a taxi, I’m about to climb in when John stops me.  
“Oh no Sherlock, you’re not riding in here smelling like that.”  
“But then… how.” I sputter out.  
“You’ll figure something out Sherls.” Coos Nicolas as he leans over Anna and shuts the door.  
I flip them the finger as I head down the pavement, looking for some form of transportation home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one felt shorter.
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. I hope you guys had fun reading it. 
> 
> Much thanks. <3


	9. We Balance Eachother Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Anna have a nice heart-to-heart. 
> 
> POV Anna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me a while to update again. Things have been happening. 
> 
> I had very little, to no help writing this chapter so sorry if it's not my best ever. My friend who usually helps me is in France for the entire summer so... 
> 
> Anyway, hope you like it.

“Salt in the bed!” We hear John yell. “Salt in the bloody bed! You’re cleaning that up, Sherlock.” He storms off to the kitchen.  
I glance at Nicky, who raises his eyebrows and goes back to cleaning his gun. Sherlock laughs under his breath as he walks past us into the hall.  
“Do any of you know where the vacuum is?” He calls.  
“I’m going to say Mrs. Hudson probably has it.” I call down the hall at the detective. He curses and goes to get it. 

Several hours later, the bed has been cleaned, John and Sherlock have made up/made out, and Nicky and I are talking in the kitchen.  
“Get him out of the house,” I say. “He hasn't had a case in a while, his agitation is starting to mess with me.”  
“What would we do?” He asks. “He and I have different interests.”  
“So? Take him with you to something,” I massage my temples. “I know that John’s also getting annoyed.”  
Nicky raises an eyebrow at the detective and the doctor, eating each others faces in the sitting room.  
“Annoyed? Really?”  
“Oh you know what I mean,” I kiss his cheek. “Please?”  
He sighs melodramatically, “Oh fiiiiiiine.”  
“Thank you.”

******************

“Morning.” John mutters as he shuffles past me to find some form of breakfast.  
“Morning. There’s not much of anything, I meant to go to the store before you got up.” I take a sip of my coffee. “I suppose you and I can go.”  
John grunts and starts to make his way back to his and Sherlock’s shared bedroom. I hear his footsteps stop.  
“Anna?” He pokes his head back into the room. “Where’s Sherlock and Nicolas?”  
“They went to the zeppelin museum,” I look at John. “It’s in Friedrichshafen.”  
“Where?”  
“Southern Germany, on Lake Constance.”  
John nods, clearly having no idea where that was, but deciding to ignore it.  
"Why would they go all the way to Germany for blimps?" John asks, confused.  
"Its the only zeppelin museum in the world," I explain, "And don't let Nicky hear you saying that. Few things piss him off more than people saying zeppelins and blimps are the same thing."  
John looks at me for a moment. "But aren't they?"  
"Ask Nicky about it. Though be prepared for a three hour lecture on the history of lighter-than-air travel."  
John purses his lips, nods, and goes back down the hall to get dressed.  
A few moments later, he comes back into the kitchen, freshly dressed and showered. He moves toward the refrigerator and stops.  
“You said there wasn't anything in here, right?” He points at it.  
I nod. “I was going to go to the store, but I got sidetracked by two bumbling idiots trying to get on the next train for Germany.” John smiles and sits down next to me.  
“Well, not all hope is lost,” he casts around for his jacket. “We can do the shopping and make something for ourselves.”  
I nod and stand, taking my cup to the kitchen to rinse and put away.

Several minutes later, John and I are sitting in the back of a taxi on our way to the Tesco’s. We agree on several items, I convince John to try caviar, even though he insists he has, and he has convinced me to get some flowers for when the boys return. Lilies, as John informs me, are Sherlock’s favourites. We get a bunch that are the same purple as one of Sherlock’s shirts. I also get some red roses, which are Nicky's favorite kind of flower. John cracks some joke about Sherlock experimenting on the flowers because he doesn't know what else to do. The two of us laugh as we hail a taxi and start to head back to Baker Street.  
Halfway back, I notice John has gone rather quiet.  
“Are you alright, John?” I ask. “You've been quiet for a while.”  
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He gives me a small smile, turning to look out of the window again.

John helps me lug the heavy grocery bags up the stairs and into the kitchen. He puts away the food while I start planning what to cook. I settle on my special stir fry that many have praised as the best they've had. John does his best to help: chopping vegetables for me, adding spices, and keeping an eye on things for me.  
Once it’s finally ready, I serve up two plates, and the two of us sit down at the kitchen table to eat.  
“Oh! I almost forgot!” I grab the small jar of caviar, putting it on the table.  
“You’re just not going to quit until I try this, are you?” John asks, rolling his eyes.  
“Not a chance.” I unscrew the lid and spoon a bit out. “Come on, it won’t kill you.” He groans but complies.  
I shove the spoon into his mouth. “Well?” I say. He chews for a bit, registering the taste.  
“It’s… interesting.” He coughs. “Not my thing. Sorry.”  
“Don’t apologise, John. It’s not for everyone.” I grab the box of crackers. 

“You know, it’s interesting.” John says. We’re in the sitting room, John’s made a chocolate mousse thing that’s positively stunning.  
“What is?”  
“Well earlier when we were in the car, I was thinking about how odd of couples we are.”  
“How do you mean?”  
“Sherlock and Nicolas, they’re so… different. So crazy and eccentric.”  
“Yeah, I doubt that anyone else could put up with those two.” I chime in.  
John nods. “I mean, their ideas of fun could get most people arrested. I’m honestly surprised they haven’t been arrested.”  
“More than they already have, you mean.” I say.  
“Ugh, don’t remind me.”  
We sit in companionable silence for a few moments, having an unspoken conversation about our lovers.  
“I guess we sort of… balance them out.” John finally says.  
“Yeah, I guess we do.”  
“I’m like Sherlock's sensitive side, I keep him human, I tell him when it’s too much. And you…”  
“I keep Nicky in check, he can get a bit wild and uncontrolled sometimes, but I always can bring him back.”  
John looks down. “We’re the ends of an insane teeter-totter, we keep them from veering off the deep end.”  
I pat his shoulder. “It’s a deep subject, but we’re okay. We know we’re the sane ones.”  
He smiles and hugs me. “Thanks Anna. You’re a great friend to have.”  
“You too. I’m pretty tired, I think I’ll head to bed. Goodnight, John, I’m glad we were able to have some time to ourselves, just to talk.”  
“Yeah, me too. Night Anna.”  
I walk up the stairs to the guest room. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him flick off the light, and walk back to his and Sherlock’s room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like Anna needed her own chapter so, this was the product. 
> 
> Not my best, I know, but still.


	10. Boys Are Back In Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Nicolas return from Germany. John and Sherlock have a little moment. 
> 
> POV John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know it's been a while. I'm working on it. Trust me, I'm the Doctor.

Anna and I have been at Baker Street alone for almost a week. We've started to become rather worried about our crazy lovers. Five days and still no word. I’m pacing the kitchen, phone pressed to my ear. I’m hoping that he’ll answer.  
“You have reached Sherlock Holmes, please leave a message…”  
I almost throw my mobile across the room. Why won’t he answer?  
“Have you heard from either of them?” I ask Anna.  
“No, but they’ll be back soon. There’s only so much trouble you can get into at an airship museum.” She says, shrugging and looking at her computer.

It’s half past nine. Anna and I have eaten dinner and are about to watch some telly, when there’s a loud crash downstairs. Anna and I look at each other, our eyes saying what neither of us want to.  
“John! I need your help down here!” I open the door to see Sherlock, hauling a passed out Nicolas up the stairs.  
“What’s happened?” I run down the stairs to help. Anna’s right behind me.  
“We got back a few hours ago and this idiot decided we were going to drinking.” Sherlock grunts as he struggles to get a better hold on Nicolas.  
“Light weight is he?” I ask, maneuvering around the giant ragdoll on the stairs.   
“Not at all,” Sherlock says. “We got attacked from behind and he got knocked unconscious.”   
Anna stops and looks at me. Her face goes from deeply concerned, to suppressing a laugh in 0.3 seconds. Sherlock and I heave him the rest of the way upstairs.

*****

“What did I miss?” Nicolas stumbles into the sitting room, his head wrapped with bandages.   
“Ah, no. Sitting down now.” I say, grabbing his arm and helping him to a chair.  
“What did I miss?” He asks again.   
“You got clobbered in the back of the head.” Calls Sherlock from the other room.  
“Yeah right. I just got a bit drunk,” he stops as he feels the goose-egg sized bump on the back of his head. “Huh.”  
He stays sitting as he looks at each of us in turn. Finally he sighs and closes his eye, leaning back in Sherlock’s chair.  
“I’ll go get dinner shall I?” Sherlock says, standing. He grabs his coat and scarf. “Coming John?”   
I hesitate. “Umm. Yeah, sure. Let me grab my jacket.” I smile at Anna as I pass her. She returns it, warmly.

Outside, Sherlock takes my hand as we walk the few blocks to the Chinese restaurant. I smile to myself. I love how his hand feels against mine, soft and rough at the same time. Gentle, yet demanding. I shiver and walk a little closer to him. He looks down at me.  
“Cold?”  
“Just a bit.” Sherlock nods and walks a few more steps. He stops and pulls me to the side, out of the way of the other people walking by on the pavement.   
Sherlock undoes his scarf and wraps it around my neck.  
“No, you’ll get cold.” I protest.  
“I won’t.” He buttons up his coat a little higher. “I don’t get cold easily.”  
I nod, burrowing deeper into the blue fabric. It’s warm. It smells like him. If he ever dies for real, I’m keeping this forever. I shake my head and laugh at the rather morbid thought.  
“What are you thinking about?” I look up into his gorgeous eyes, they have a genuinely interested look about them.  
“Can’t you tell?” I joke.  
“Something about my scarf. Anything I should know about?”  
“Nah, it’s nothing.” I smile at him.  
Sherlock surveys me for another moment, before bending down and kissing me. I get a bit lost, I admit. Sherlock is many things, and a positively astounding kisser is high on that list. I’m only brought back to myself when I hear someone giggle. I pull away in time to see the two teen girls shooting us glances over their shoulders as they walk away. I can’t help the blush that creeps onto my cheeks, starting at my toes. Sherlock laughs and pulls on my hand.  
“Come on, let’s get the food. Anna and Nicolas will be wondering what’s become of us.” I nod, walking along with my boyfriend.  
Boyfriend?  
It’s only then I realise, I’ve almost never considered him my boyfriend. My lover, sure. The man I might marry, definitely. But boyfriend? That name has never crossed my mind until now.   
“John?” I snap out of my thoughts. Sherlock is looking at me intently.   
“Yes. Sorry. Just thinking,” I respond. “Let’s go.”  
Sherlock wraps an arm around my shoulder, pulling me close, and pressing a kiss to the top of my head.  
“Love you, John.”  
“Love you too, Sherlock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a prank next chapter, I know it sort of went away. It's all under control.
> 
> "You know when grown-ups tell you everything's going to be fine, and you think they're probably lying to make you feel better?... Everything's going to be fine."  
>  ~The Doctor
> 
> (I felt like I had to do that, I apologise.)


	11. Totally Bone-afide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John, Nicolas, and Anna pull a rather large prank on Sherlock that involves the skull and getting the consulting detective drunk.
> 
> POV John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nicolas's real life counterpart came up with the idea, though I wrote this one on my own. 
> 
> I officially hate skeleton puns now.

I can’t believe we’re going to do this! I really can’t.  
Nicolas has set up absolutely everything. The skull, the cameras, the screens for our viewing pleasure, and sent out the fabricated invitations to a party. The people we really wanted to come, we phoned. Basically, it’s everyone that was present at the whole “herring-kidnapping” thing. Mycroft declined, saying it would be too obvious if he was at the party as well. I called Sherlock, telling him that we’re having a party to celebrate our unofficial four-month anniversary. He starts to protest, but I insist.  
He agrees saying, “Anderson is NOT invited. If he shows up for any reason, the party’s over.”  
“Don’t worry,” I say. “He won’t be there.”

*******

A few hours later, we’re all at the flat. Molly and Andrew came together, their relationship seems to be going swimmingly. Greg has asked me several times if Mycroft is going to show up, to which I say he’s not.  
“What’s up with Greg and your brother?” I ask Sherlock, after Greg’s third inquiry.  
“They’ve been sleeping with each other. They’ve been trying to keep it under wraps, but it’s incredibly obvious. Mycroft’s rather ashamed of his homosexuality, as is… Greg? Is that his name?”  
I chuckle and give him a sarcastic round of applause. “Yes, Sherlock. That’s his name, good job.”  
Sherlock rolls his eyes and kisses my forehead. “Names aren’t my thing. As I was saying…”  
He’s cut off when Mrs. Hudson brings in a tray of full wine glasses. Everyone takes one and goes back to talking.  
“John?”  
“Yeah? What is it Sherlock?”  
“Isn’t that your sister?”  
I turn slowly and look at the door. Standing there, looking… good, is my older sister. Red-blonde hair, pulled back. Jeans and a nice shirt.  
“Harry?” She catches sight of me and walks over.  
“John! I got your invite. I was surprised.” She smiles and hugs me. “So where is the lucky lady?” She says, glancing around.  
“Umm… right here,” I motion to Sherlock. “Harry, this is Sherlock. Sherlock, Harry.”  
Harry’s eyes widen as she lays eyes on him. “You mean Sherlock is a guy? And here thought I was the gay sibling.” She laughs and shakes his hand. “Isn’t Sherlock a girls name?”  
I watch as a small twinge of embarrassment passes over Sherlock’s face.  
“... Yes it is.” He says quietly.  
I fight hard to not burst out laughing. Sherlock shoots me a look and goes back to the party. 

It’s been a few hours, the party’s going great, everyone (including Sherlock) is having a great time. I catch Nicolas beckoning to me. I walk over to him, he puts an arm around my shoulders and whispers to me.  
“You know what your mission is, right?”  
“Yeah, it’s just a bit hard because Sherlock doesn’t drink much.” I say.  
“I know, but you have to. It’s essential for this prank.” He pats my shoulder and walks away to talk with Greg.  
“Johnny!” I hear a slurred voice coming from behind me. Harry.  
I turn and look at my older sister. Her face is flushed, her eyes lidded, and she hiccups once or twice.  
“Damn it Harry, I knew I shouldn’t have let you come!” I grab her hand as she sways on the spot. I help her to the sofa. “How much have you had?”  
“Pfffffft. Idunno. I guess… one or… one or… TWO!” I close my eyes as she yells the number in my ear.  
Sherlock swoops in. “She’s had about eight. I caught her at the ninth.”  
“Right, well, let’s get her a cab home.” There has to be someone to take her home. Lestrade!  
“Hey Greg!” I call, motioning for him to come over. “Could you do me favour?”  
“Yeah, sure. What is it?” He asks, setting down his drink.  
“Can you bring my sister home? She’s had a bit too much.”  
“Of course. I can drive her.”  
We pull the now completely gone Harry off the sofa. Andrew catches on and helps Greg get my sister into the DI’s car. Sherlock steps behind me, interlacing his fingers with mine.  
“Want a drink?” I ask, remembering the plan.  
“Not particularly,” He says. “However, if you’re buying.” Sherlock winks at me.  
“We’re in our house, Sherlock.” I say.  
“Your point?” I roll my eyes and move away to get a couple more beers, Nicolas and I lock eyes, and he nods, a large grin on his face.  
“So Sherlock,” I hand him the green bottle.  
“Yes?” He says, taking a sip.  
“I actually have a plan for the evening.” I say.  
“I thought as much. Might I ask what?”  
“I want to get you drunk.” I mutter, I almost hope he didn’t hear me. No such luck.  
“Why do you want to get me drunk?” He says, I’ve never seen him look this confused.  
I pause, trying to think of a good excuse.  
“Weeeellll… I’ve never seen you just relax and open up in that way.”  
“Yes you have. Remember--”  
I cut him off. “Yes, Sherlock. I remember. I want a do-over though, because that night was horrible.”  
He looks me over, those beautiful eyes staring into mine.  
“I suppose I can play along.” He says finally.  
“Really?!” That surprised me.  
“If it’s what you want, then sure.”  
I stand in shock for a moment before I snap back to myself. I straighten slightly, looking up at Sherlock. He smiles down at me and takes another sip of his beer.  
“Let’s get drunk!” Sherlock says. He takes my hand and we walk over to the others.

A few hours later, Sherlock is completely gone. He’s giggling and yelling stupid things. I don’t know how we did it, but we did it: Sherlock Holmes, is drunk off his arse. He’s floppy and weird. It’s unusual seeing the normally calm and collected Sherlock, suddenly being a goofy, slightly belligerent… puppy. It’s adorable. I should do this more often.

*******

It’s around three in the morning, people are leaving, Sherlock is still drunk, everything has been set up perfectly for our on-coming prank. And yes, getting Sherlock completely arsed was part of the plan. After everyone is gone, it’s time to start.  
It starts with Anna and Nicolas and going off to bed. I stay with Sherlock for a bit, laying him down on the sofa and pretending that I’m going to bed as well. Instead of going to bed, I head up the stairs to my old room, now being occupied by Nicolas and Anna. An expensive looking sound system, and several TV screens have been set up in what now looks like a futuristic command center. The entire setup is focused around two leather office chairs, each facing a pair of computers hooked up to triple monitors. Each of them are wearing clunky looking headsets, and clacking away furiously on their respective gaming keyboards. And I thought Nicolas was broke. On the screens are different shots of the sitting room. They've clearly been building this set up for a while. There's a microphone sitting in the middle of the table next to a joystick which Nicolas informs me is wirelessly hooked up to a micro speaker, mic, and "our punney little friend" in the sitting room. I look over to Nicolas. Over the course of the party, he had about five times as much booze as Sherlock, yet somehow, he is able to enter a complicated string of command sequences into the computer from memory. He's clearly not new to drinking. I brush this thought aside. Nicolas and Anna have been working on this one for over a week. It's flawless. This should be fun. 

We watch as Sherlock lies on the sofa, his eyes blinking slowly. Anna grins, "Let’s wake him up, shall we?"  
“HEY!” Sherlock sits up and looks around the room.  
“John? That you?” He sways. When no one answers him, he lies back down.  
“HEY YOU!”  
He sits up again. “Hello?”  
“HEY! LOOK! LISTEN!” It’s only then he notices the skull on the mantle. He tilts his head, looking at it.  
“Are you… talking?”  
“‘Are you talking?’ Of course I’m talking you bonehead!” Yells the skull, jumping around on it's perch. I look at Nicolas, I don’t know how he’s managing to disguise his voice like he is. He sounds like he’s fallen out of a cartoon.  
“Why?”  
“Well… I don’t know! Why not?” The skull chuckles.  
“It’s not actually possible for you to be talking,” Sherlock slurs. “You don’t have a tongue… or lips.”  
“Hey! Why didn’t the skeleton cross the road?” The skull yells, tilting it's self and somehow changing the shape of it's eye sockets to look like it's eyebrow was raised.  
“What?” Says Sherlock, rubbing his eyes.  
“Because he didn’t have the guts! Get it?!” The skull threw it's self back cackling.  
I’m waiting for a rimshot that never comes. Sherlock stands, wobbling a bit. He walks over to the skull, picking it up and turning it over in his hands.  
“Put me down you idjit!” It shouts, jumping about, “I’ll bite you!”  
Sherlock almost drops it in his surprise, then carries it over to the sofa. He sits down, holding the skull at eye height. He looks like he’s about to start reciting Shakespeare.  
As if on cue, Nicolas recites the speech in my mind.  
“‘Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him well, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath bore me on his back a thousand times, and now how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it.’” The skull falls silent for a moment.  
“I don’t believe you.” Sherlock says.  
“You don’t have to,” the skull chuckles. “A skeleton walks into a bar and says ‘hey bartender! Give me a drink, and a mop!” The gives Sherlock a toothy grin and raises it's eyebrows. Again, the perfect moment for a rimshot.  
“How are you talking?” Sherlock asks.  
“How aren’t I talking?”  
“Are you always going to answer my questions with questions?”  
“Should I not?” The skull retorts. Sherlock pauses.  
“Does this make us Rosencrantz and Guildenstern**?”  
“Does it not make us Rosencrantz and Guildenstern?” The skull has a rather cocky air about it.  
“I’m not sober enough for this.” Sherlock finally says.  
“I win! I win!” Shouts the skull.  
“Who’s making you talk?” Asks Sherlock.  
“Still looking - may have found something by to-MARROW.” Jokes the skull loudly in it's ever sing-song voice.  
“Please stop that,” Sherlock says, tossing the skull aside and lying back on the sofa, holding his head.  
“Ow! That hurt!” The skull cries from it’s spot on the coffee table.  
“You can’t feel anything!” Sherlock shouts from his curled up position.  
“I know, I know. Forgive me, I’m just a little… nerve-less! Get it?!” It laughs unnecessarily loudly.  
Sherlock groans. “Your jokes are horrendous.”  
“Give me a break. Or, actually don’t, if you get my meaning.” Sherlock wines at both the horrible joke, and the loud noise. “It’s hard to come up with a good rib-tickler without much preparation.”  
Sherlock flips over and grabs the skull.  
“Stop. Talking.” He growls.  
Just then, Mrs. Hudson walks into the sitting room.  
“Sherlock, love, are you alright?” she says. “I heard shouting.”  
“Not so good, it’s the skull.” He lowers his voice conspiratorially. “It’s… talking.”  
Mrs. Hudson raises an eyebrow. “I'm sorry?” She says.  
“The skull is talking to me!” He picks it up, off the table. “Say something!” He says.  
The skull stays silent. Mrs. Hudson stares at Sherlock.  
“It was talking, I swear!” He shakes it.  
“Sherlock dear, maybe you had just a bit too much to drink? Maybe you should lie down.” She smiles, collects the empty bottles and glasses and heads back downstairs.  
Sherlock slumps on the sofa.  
“She’s nice isn’t she?” The skull says after a bit. “A good housekeeper too.”  
“Why didn’t you talk?”  
“You told me not to.”  
“Wait a minute…” Sherlock drops the skull again. “Oh you little!”  
We see him stand and leave the sitting room, a bit wobbly. A minute later, he bursts through the door where the three of us are camped out.  
“I KNEW IT!” He shouts, pointing an accusing finger at each of us.  
Nicolas is laughing and clapping his hands. I’m laughing too.  
“I hate all of you.” Sherlock pouts and leaves the room.  
We all laugh a bit longer, until I decide to go after Sherlock. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, head in his hands. It’s only then I think we may have taken it a bit too far.  
“Sherlock?” I put a hand on his shoulder.  
He sits up and takes it, turning his head to look at me.  
“I’m fine. I’m sober now too.” He smiles, and kisses my palm.  
“You’re sure you’re alright?”  
“Oh yeah,” he pulls me into his lap. “I’m fine.”  
“Bed?” I suggest.  
“Exhausted.”  
“I’ll help you if you want to get revenge on them.” I say.  
“That could be fun…” He trails off as Nicolas calls to us.  
“Guys! I’ve got great idea!” Nicolas says, jumping over the banister acrobatically and landing next to us. “We should totally prank Mycroft next.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** In the play "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead" by Tom Stoppard, the two main characters, (R & G) play a game called Question Tennis. The rules are: A player starts with a question, the other player can only answer with a question. It goes back and forth until someone messes up. No declarative sentences allowed!  
> It's actually a lot of fun. 
> 
> There's a two minute video on YouTube of R and G playing from the movie, starring Gary Oldman and Tim Roth: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fGEYFE7e_R8&hd=1
> 
> Anyway! I hope you liked this chapter, it'll be fun to pull one on Mycroft.


	12. Explosive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So many explosions. So many explosions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry. I know it's been months and months, I just couldn't find any motivation to work on this fic at all. I'm going to try to write more for this one. This is a chapter I wrote a while ago, but ended up deleting, after some edits, I decided to post it again.
> 
> Thanks for reading.

“You’re sure this’ll work?” John asks.

“Positive. I’m great at visual effects,” Nicolas says with an air of confidence that I only ever see in him. “Plus, my friend Kellin is great at this stuff.”

 

We're at breakfast, and have spent the entire meal discussing the idea that Nicolas came up with last night. John slides a little closer to me in the booth we're sitting in.

“I hate to say it,” I say. “But Mycroft can easily catch a fake bomb threat. He’s gotten many of them.”

“I know. You seem to forget, my dear friend, I have many connections.”

 

Calling Mycroft.

We’re using a specially designed voice modulator to disguise Anna’s voice. A woman calling in bomb threat is the last thing Mycroft is expecting. I hate to say it, but my older brother can be a misogynistic twat sometimes.

Nicolas’ friend, Kellin, found ways to make the phone call untraceable, so we won’t have to worry about his cohorts or assistants busting us halfway through.

Anna dials quickly, putting it on speaker for all of us to hear.

“This is Mycroft Holmes.” My brother answers in a bored tone.

Anna glances at Kellin, making sure everything is working. He gives her a thumbs up.

“Hello Mr. Holmes.” She starts. “In exactly… three hours, something important to you is going to be scorched rubble on the pavement.”

She hangs up, dropping the phone and giggling into her hand like a schoolgirl. We all join in. Laughing like we’re teenagers playing Truth or Dare. We almost don’t hear my mobile ringing. I shush everyone as I see Mycroft’s name on the lit up screen. I clear my throat, doing my best to sound casual.

“What do you want, Mycroft?” I shoot into the phone.

I take it away from my ear and put it on speaker.

“Where are you?”

“Baker Street, why?” I say, still trying to act annoyed at his call.

“Are you alone?” He sounds genuinely concerned.

“No, John’s here. Why? What’s going on?” I ask, trying not to laugh.

There’s a pause. “Just stay with him alright?”

“I can do that,” I pause for effect. “Anything else?”

“I’m having a car sent for you and John. Be ready to leave.” He hangs up.

I roll my eyes and toss my phone aside.

I look over to Nicolas and Anna. “You two had better get going. You’ve got,” I check my watch. “Two hours, and forty-five minutes to set everything up.”

They nod and stand, grabbing Kellin and a couple of large ****

“You’re sure this’ll work?” John asks Nicolas.

“Positive. I’m great at visual effects,” Nicolas says back. “Plus, my friend Kellin is great at this stuff.”

John nods and slides a little closer to me in the booth we’re sitting at.

“I hate to say it,” I say. “But Mycroft can easily catch a fake bomb threat. He’s gotten many of them.”

“I know. You seem to forget my dear friend, I have many connections.”

Calling Mycroft. We’re using a specially designed voice modulator to disguise Anna’s voice. A woman calling in bomb threat is the last thing Mycroft is expecting. I hate to say it, but my older brother can be a sexist twat sometimes. Nicolas’ friend, Kellin, found ways to make the phone call untraceable, so we won’t have to worry about his cohorts or assistants busting us halfway through.

Anna dials quickly, putting it on speaker for all of us to hear.

“This is Mycroft Holmes.” My brother answers in a bored tone.

Anna glances at Kellin, making sure everything is working. He gives her a thumbs up.

“Hello Mr. Holmes.” She starts. “In exactly… three hours, something important to you is going to be scorched rubble on the pavement.” She hangs up, dropping the phone and giggling into her hand like a schoolgirl. We all join in. Laughing like we’re teenagers playing Truth or Dare. We almost don’t hear my mobile ringing. I shush everyone as I see Mycroft’s name on the lit up screen. I clear my throat, doing my best to sound casual.

“What do you want, Mycroft?” I shoot into the phone. I take it away from my ear and put it on speaker.

“Where are you?”

“Baker Street, why?” I say, still trying to act annoyed at his call.

“Are you alone?” He sounds genuinely concerned.

“No, John’s here. Why? What’s going on?” I ask, trying not to laugh.

There’s a pause. “Just stay with him alright?”

“I can do that,” I pause for effect. “Talk to you later I suppose?”

“I’m having a car sent for you and John. Be ready to leave.” He hangs up.

I roll my eyes and toss my phone aside. I look over to Nicolas and Anna.

“You two had better get going. You’ve got,” I check my watch. “Two hours, and forty-five minutes to set everything up.”

They nod and stand, grabbing Kellin and a couple of large duffel bags that are near the door. They bolt out, starting off in the direction of Mycroft’s house.

I turn to John, he’s standing at the stove. I walk up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist and kissing his shoulder. I can feel him smile.

“We’ve got a bit, what do you want to do?” I ask.

He turns in my arms and kisses me.

“Oh I can think of a couple things.”

We flop on the sofa. John’s on top of me, kissing my neck.

“We have an hour,” I gasp as he bites my ear, gently. “Not enough time for-- do that again-- sex, really.”

John looks at me with lust-filled eyes. “Who said anything about sex?” He bites his lip.

I stare at him, confused for a moment before I catch on.

“Oh.”

He nods.

“Oh?”

He nods again.

“OH!”

John rolls his eyes and unbuttons my trousers, a large smile on his face.

He strokes me once, twice, three times, he opens his mouth. There’s a knock at the door. He lets go of me, and stands up. I groan in frustration, John shoots me a look and opens the door. There are two men in suits and earpieces standing there.

“We came for Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.” The taller of them says.

“Yes, of course.” John says. “Give us a moment, would you?” He closes the door and turns back to me.

I open my arms as he walks over. He pats my leg, and goes to get his jacket.

“What are you doing?” I ask when he comes back in the room.

“Well,” he tosses me my coat. “We have to go.”

“But-but. What about…” I trail off.

“Tuck yourself up, maybe we can finish up later.” He winks and opens the door again.

I move quickly to put myself away.

We sit in the back of the limousine, Mycroft’s goons are sitting in the front of the car, away from us. I’m incredibly uncomfortable. I’m actually surprised Mycroft’s men didn’t react at all. Judging from the way they reacted, or rather didn’t, they didn’t even notice I was achingly hard in my trousers.

John leans over and starts to unbutton my trousers again.

“What are you doing?” I jump and push him away slightly.

“We’ve got about ten minutes,” he pulls my cock out of the waistband of my pants. “A lot you can do in ten minutes.”

Before I can protest, he takes me into his mouth. I lurch forward in surprise. John, without looking up, claps a hand over my mouth and pushes me back. Once he thinks I’m able to be quiet, he takes his hand away from my mouth and starts to suck again. My breathing is getting progressively sporadic. John hums and I almost lurch forward again. He can tell, and stops sucking entirely.

“John, please.” I whisper.

He smiles around me, and licks up my length. I take a shaky breath, trying to stabilise myself. Then, John does something amazing. I jam a fist into my mouth to keep from screaming. John smiles again as I tap his shoulder frantically, he only takes me further into his mouth. He twists his tongue in just the right way, and I come. John swallows around me, making my climax last longer. When I’m finally done, John sits back, wipes his mouth, and grins. He quickly undoes the button on his jeans, grabbing my hand and using it to bring himself to orgasm. John slaps a hand over his own mouth, stopping any sound from escaping.

As if from nowhere, he produces a tissue and wipes his hand, just as we arrive at Mycroft’s house. John and I scramble to cover ourselves and leave the car looking flustered.

We’re led into the large sitting room, we sit on the sofa, a good two feet between us. I look at John, John looks at me, we both start giggling. It’s almost identical to that time at Buckingham Palace, minus the sheet and the dominatrix, and the fact that we’re both dressed. We both burst out laughing again as Mycroft enters the room.

“Would you please act your age.” Mycroft mutters as he looks at us.

John and I share a glance. _Almost identical._

“We solve crimes, I blog about it, and we suck each other off in the back of your limousine. I wouldn’t hold out too much hope.” John says. I widen my eyes at him, and we both start giggling again.

Mycroft rolls his eyes, trying to hide the look of disgust on his face. It makes John and  I start laughing all over again.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I brought you here.” Mycroft says, gesturing around.

“Mmmmm… Not really, no.” I say, standing up to go. “Now if you don’t mind.”

“You’re not going anywhere Sherlock, not until I know you’re safe.” He puts his umbrella out to stop me.

“It’s nice that you worry but--”

“No Sherlock. You’re staying here.” My brother almost growls as he pushes me back into the sitting room.

I stand still, acting like I’m going to punch him in the mouth.

Before either of us can do anything, there’s a strange beeping coming from outside, it gets progressively faster and faster until…

A large earth shattering boom comes from just outside. The three of us run outside to try to find the source of the boom. Mycroft rounds a corner and stops dead. I almost bump into him, John grabs my shoulder to stop me. Mycroft’s garden is… destroyed. Actually, completely, and totally _destroyed_. Anna and Nicolas come into sight, they both have detonators in their hands and mischievous grins on their faces.

“Two bombs?” I say, smiling. “Isn’t that a bit much?”

“Not in my opinion.” Nicolas says, putting the detonator in his breast pocket.

The four of us slowly turn toward my older brother. He is standing perfectly still, staring at the rubble that was once lovely roses and other flowers. His eyes are wide, and he reaches for his pocket watch automatically. A coping mechanism from his younger years that he still uses today.

“Whose idea was this?” He says to no one in particular.

John and I point to Nicolas and Anna, they point to us. We’ve become four-year-olds in the presence of Mycroft’s calm rage. He turns toward John and I.

“I expect the garden to be put back together by tomorrow morning,” he strides over to the other two. “I will give you a list of the flowers you have just eradicated.” He takes a breath before continuing. “Along with some, but not all, of the money to replace the plants. Good day.” Mycroft turns on his heel and walks quickly back inside, leaving the four of us.

John and I exchange glances. Nicolas and Anna walk to us, eyes wide. It’s only when the four of us are all standing together, do we speak.

“Do you think…” Anna starts.

“We should tell him it was all a really well made stage set?” I finish for her.

“A stunning one,” Nicolas adds. “Along with a few rose and petunia petals, but I mean…”

“Nah.” I say. “Let him stew for a while. Need any help putting this stuff away?”

“We got it, but thanks anyway.” Says Anna.

They link arms and walk away to pick up the set and sound amplifiers.

I offer my arm to John. He takes it and we stroll through Mycroft’s lovely garden, heading back to the pavement to hail a cab.

“Any chance we might be busy later?” I whisper as seductively as I can.

“Maybe.” He says. “Why?”

“I want an excuse to kick those two out for a bit.” I motion toward our friends.

“I’m sure we can think of something.” John says, pulling me down for a kiss just as the taxi pulls up. He moves away before I can touch our lips together a second time.

“Tease.” I smile as he climbs into the backseat.

He wiggles his hips slightly. “You know it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I am so so sorry. I promise I will try to wrote more for this one.

**Author's Note:**

> Whatever shall happen next?!  
> .................
> 
> I will take suggestions for pranks.


End file.
